


keep a space for me

by twoif



Category: Given (Manga)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Unresolved Friendship Tension, the OC is Take-chan's unnamed girlfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 11:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20357578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoif/pseuds/twoif
Summary: It's hard to be the wrong person at the right time.Haruki tells him over coffee after one of his shifts at the cafe. It takes a few seconds for Kouji to process the announcement. Once he does, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, which unfortunately is, "Dump him right now and date me instead."Haruki fumbles his iced coffee, almost slopping it all over his shirt. "What about Mariko? Wait, I mean, Take-san, do you even date guys?!""It'll be tough," Kouji admits grimly, "but I will bear it for you."





	keep a space for me

Haruki tells him over coffee after one of his shifts at the cafe. It takes a few seconds for Kouji to process the announcement. Once he does, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, which unfortunately is, "Dump him right now and date me instead."

Haruki fumbles his iced coffee, almost slopping it all over his shirt. "What about Mariko? Wait, I mean, Take-san, do you even date guys?!"

"It'll be tough," Kouji admits grimly, "but I will bear it for you."

Surprised, Haruki laughs so hard he snorts the coffee through his nose instead. He is the happiest Kouji has seen him in months, and somehow that's the thing that stings the most. Haruki's hair has grown out, at least in the front, and Kouji can tell someone else has cut and styled it recently, which, of course someone has. It has been months. 

They are sitting at a table by the window, where he and Haruki were seated the first time they came to this cafe. A few months later, Haruki got the part-time job. These days, Kouji takes Mariko here, and if it's his shift and the table is free, Haruki sits them at this table too. These are the little things that play over and over again in Kouji's head now, like a music video on repeat: first date with Mariko, his first time here with Haruki, Mariko closing her eyes when he leaned in to kiss her for the first time, Haruki's head bent, his eyes closed, when Kouji first brushed his fingers against the back of Haruki's neck. 

"I thought you were okay with it," Haruki insists. "You told me you were last summer, when you first found out I was living with him."

"Geez," Kouji says, sinking his head into his hands. "I was okay with you letting him crash at your place for a bit, but I don't remember approving the two of you in a relationship."

"I don't see what the difference is!"

"Yes you do! Or else you wouldn't have told me like this!"

Haruki is silent for a minute, glumly stirring his coffee. He tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, then does it again when it stubbornly falls back over his face. Finally, he mutters, "you're not mad at me, are you?" 

He _is_ mad, irrationally so, but in between working his job and turning 25 and being in different bands for years, Kouji has learned a thing or two about personal boundaries. He's always been the one in their friend group with the highest EQ, which was another reason it was so unfair he had such a hard time dating. The reality is that Haruki owes him nothing, and any other person would have told Kouji so. Because Haruki doesn't tell him off, Kouji thinks, biting his lip, it is an admission that there is something in their relationship that is special, ambiguous even. It keeps alive a hope that Kouji has never put into words, a hope that Haruki maybe doesn't even consciously acknowledge.

But Kouji is not stupid. There is no point risking this friendship on something so faint. 

Instead, he irritatedly stubs out his cigarette. "Yes, yes," he says, waving a hand at Haruki's face, "you have my blessing." When Haruki keeps shyly looking up at him like a kicked puppy, he sighs. "If you're happy," he says, reluctant, "then Take-chan is happy for you."

He lets Haruki pay their bill as an apology. 

*

Haruki is right, of course; Kouji doesn't date guys. To be precise, he had hardly dated at all, men or women, but he has never been interested in dating any guy, including Haruki. 

But he _has_ always been soft on Haruki, and everyone around them has always known it. Haruki had a bad habit of hanging onto every word Kouji said, first about school when they were both just film majors, and then later, when Haruki discovered they were both in bands as well, everything Kouji had to say about music and lives and promotion. They never talked about relationships, but he'd always thought that if he did have anything to say about Haruki's dating life, Haruki would have listened. And hand in hand with that, since he had known Haruki, Kouji has liked doing little things to make Haruki smile, stuff he could wrap up as a senpai's prerogative without it getting weird. It was cute, like owning a particularly intelligent dog that he didn't have to walk or take care of, but could come over to play with on long weekend afternoons.

And yeah, he's never liked Akihiko. The reasons he gives publicly (young, bad attitude, good at everything) have never been lies. Kouji has always been _normal_, achingly so, but Akihiko had been the kind of guy in high school that would bully guys like Kouji a little and then completely forget their existence. At first it'd been funny to see Haruki get in over his head, and for at least a while it was fine, skating on the surface of disastrous. No one made any sudden moves, and they were in a status quo that wasn't, frankly, any of Kouji's business, even if it was obvious to him that Akihiko played Haruki like a well-worn violin. And even afterwards, after the fight and the weird all-nighter that culminated in Kouji cutting Haruki's hair in his living room, the only thing that really changed was that Kouji had more personal reasons to dislike Akihiko. He'd always known this would end in heartbreak, one way or another, so what was he to say when it did? What did it matter, that their relationship, whatever it was, dragged on? It wasn't like Haruki was dating anyone else, and it certainly wasn't like Haruki was dating _Akihiko_.

Until now, of course. 

What it boiled down to, Kouji admits to himself, is that rejection always hurts. Haruki had been straight too, or at least not obviously into guys, until he had met Akihiko. It wasn't Yatake Kouji that changed him; it was Kaji Akihiko. It hurt to find yourself asking the question, "Why can't it be me?" It hurt even if you knew you'd never take what was offered, even if it _was _you_._ But that's a problem for him to deal with, of course, and not Haruki's. That had never been something for Haruki to figure out, only something for Kouji to make peace with on his own.

*

Mariko, no longer his new girlfriend now that they have been dating for half a year, likes k-pop idols and American rap and has little to no interest in the Japanese rock band scene, but comes to every one of his lives anyway. They'd met at a work party—she'd been a former employee at his company—and he admires everything about her: the determined way she'd made friends with his band and their significant others, the dutiful way she buys their mixtapes for both her siblings (an older sister and a younger brother), and the fact that she's never once accused him of prioritizing his band over her. "If you want to sleep with your drummer and wreck that band, it'll hurt you more than it'll hurt me," she likes to say, which is the truth.

His band and Given have a joint live in May. "If I had to rank them," she tells him after the show, slowly sipping flat beer, "I guess I like them the best out of all the bands you've dragged me to." Before Kouji protests, she says, "that's excluding yours, of course."

He knows he shouldn't ask, but he can't stop himself. "What do you like about them?" He tries to nonchalantly drink his beer, and almost gets it up his nose when he tilts the cup too far. 

She hums thoughtfully. "Probably their vocalist? You know I don't like the instrumental stuff much."

_Stupid_, Kouji berates himself, when he realizes he's relieved. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. 

"But you're friends with the bassist, right?" Mariko presses on. "Haruki, the cute one that used to have long hair? 

"You think he's cute?"

"Don't you?" She laughs. "He's the cutest one, right?"

He muses over it as they head to another bar to meet up with the rest of his band, steadily drinking as he chews her words over in his head. It's not that he doesn't think Haruki is attractive, but it had shocked him to find a person who would would say Haruki was the most attractive, when Akihiko was right there. Kouji holds certain universal truths to be self-evident, and one of them is that Akihiko is always the most attractive person in the room. 

"Maybe," he tells Mariko, a little drunk as they walk to the train station, "it all comes down to recognition of talent."

"Take-chan is talented," she insists, confused. "Your photography is so good. You don't think so?"

_Take-chan_, he thinks. It's a nickname everyone uses; that was how Haruki had picked it up in the first place, after all. Alone, Mariko usually calls him Kouji, but she liked to throw out "Take-chan" when she felt mischievous or, sometimes, up for doing it. 

Not for the first time, he wonders what is it that he wants. He's satisfied that it's not to actually be with Haruki, to sleep with him or kiss him or anything. Certainly he would never give up Mariko to be with Haruki, so that much, at least, had been a joke. Maybe it was just the acknowledgement that he too could be special, that he could possess someone's heart like Akihiko, that he could inspire that kind of longing, that kind of pain in another person. But in this light, as he stands next to Mariko, all that seems overly dramatic, a kind of _chuunibyou _of romance that would normally make Kouji gag. 

"You're right," he teases, putting an arm around Mariko's shoulders. "I'm the best." He buries his nose against her hair. She lets him draw her into him, asking no questions, and for no reason at all, he is touched to the point of tears. 

*

In the summer, Haruki asks him to help Given make a demo CD, something they can sell at a merch stand. "I'm a film major," he gripes, "not a sound engineer," but he's pleased to be asked anyway. 

There is no reason for Kouji to be at the recording studio with Given, but no one questions when he shows up with Haruki anyway. Neither Uenoyama nor Satou seem to question that they are together and that Akihiko arrives a few minutes afterwards, sweaty and exhausted from a part-time job. Outwardly, Kouji observes as he chews on a nail, there is nothing different about Akihiko and Haruki. It's not like they touch any more often than they did before, or blush when they look at each other. But it's hard to tell with this band, Kouji knows. Satou and Uenoyama had been dating for longer than he and Mariko have, or at least that's Kouji's understanding, and if Haruki hadn't told him ages ago, he certainly wouldn't be able to tell, not with the way Uenoyama orders the whole band around. 

"Uenoyama would probably make a good dictator of a small country when he grows up," he tells Haruki later, when they're outside smoking. "Or, even worse," he shudders, "a movie director."

"Our Ue-sama," Haruki says fondly as he exhales. "I'd say it was youth, but I don't remember being that forceful when I was his age."

There's a small noise from the entrance of the recording studio. It's Satou, who sticks his head out the door with a polite blink. "Haruki-san, Yatake-san," he sings out, "Kaji-san came back with the drinks so we're going to resume in a few seconds."

Haruki waves an acknowledgement, flicking his cigarette at the same time. "We're almost done," he tells Satou, who nods and disappears back into the building. 

There was a time where Kouji could casually drop in on Haruki at his apartment whenever, with some produce from his grandmother or maybe a reference book he thought Haruki might need. These days, Kouji is busier, with work and Mariko, and then of course, there's Akihiko, who all but lived in Haruki's apartment too and whom Kouji likes to give a wide berth simply because it seemed to make everything easier somehow. "When friends get married, you have to give the space," Mariko had told him while he sputtered indignantly at her, _they're not married_, even if he got her point.

Still, though. He watches Haruki, legs crossed and eyes closed as he smokes the last of his cigarette. The tenderness rises in him like a fever, and he gives in, just this once. He sits back down next to Haruki, lets their shoulder touch, and tries not to be pleased at the way Haruki lights up, turning towards Kouji. 

"You and Akihiko," Kouji says, coughing. "Are the two of you...?"

"The other day, we went shopping for mugs together," Haruki says, covering his face as he turns red. "I was so happy."

"Idiot," Kouji mutters.

"I keep thinking, any day now, it'll all be a joke. You know? Did you feel that way with Mariko?"

It suddenly sobers Kouji, who drops his cigarette and grinds it out against the sidewalk, before passing a critical eye over Haruki from head to toe. "No," he answers, truthful because he doesn't know what else could possibly be the right answer. "But she and I, it's different. She didn't, you know…"

Haruki nods. Kouji swallows hard, relieved that Haruki doesn't seem to find it weird that Kouji can't finish any of his sentences. Maybe this is a normal stumbling block, and not a sign that he is not over Haruki and Akihiko. He tries out the end of this one in his head: _she didn't break my heart and probably attempt to use me for sex and also we're not both guys_. He bumps Haruki's shoulder again. "If he ever does anything— if you ever need—" Unbidden, he's hit with the image of Haruki on his balcony, gaunt with a faceful of dark shadows, and he clenches his hands into two useless fists. "If he hurts you," he says, with a little more force than he means to.

"Thanks, Take-chan," Haruki cuts in. "You're a good friend."

It's a hard thing, to realize that you were the wrong person at the right time. The only consolation Kouji has is that he suspects this is the first and last time in his life he'll have this experience. Whatever it is that Akihiko has—whatever it was that even tiny baby Uenoyama Ritsuka had that one night Kouji first pointed him out to Haruki on stage—Yatake Kouji clearly doesn't possess, or at least not in the right frequency for Haruki. But still, there was a moment, when that possibility was there. When Haruki had been open and vulnerable and there were a thousand doors that were open under Kouji's touch. He remembers the feel of Haruki's hair, strangely soft for a guy's, as it slipped through his fingers, as Haruki slipped through his fingers. Haruki had never been his, or at least, had never known he was Kouji's. This is something in between losing a friend and losing a daughter, not quite the same as losing a lover. He is mourning for a thing that never existed, and will never be, and it is a loss he can never tell anyone about. It is the loneliest feeling in the world, and he is glad he will only experience it once.

Kouji takes a deep breath. "Next time," he says, "let's go to the beach and have an outdoor barbecue. With Mariko and the rest of the guys." After a pause, he adds, "You can bring Akihiko I guess."

"He'd come anyway if he heard about it," Haruki says, crinkling his eyes. "You can't beat him off of free meat with a stick."

"I gave my Haru-chan away to a dog," Kouji gripes. "A beast. A wolf with no manners."

Haruki laughs, slinging an arm around Kouji, and a second later, Kouji joins in. The night air is warm, a weight against him and Haruki both. He feels good. He doesn't think anything about talent or measuring up or anything complicated. He can almost feel the water between his toes, Mariko yelling at him about the wrong marinades, the smell of meat grilling. There are still another few weeks of summer. There is no need, yet, to think about things ending.

**Author's Note:**

> \- title from frank ocean's "self-control": keep a place for me / i'll sleep between you / it's nothing. i picked it before i remembered that the song actually has the lyrics "you cut your hair" and a whole bunch of stuff about the summertime. sometimes things work out, unlike take-chan and haruki (too soon???).
> 
> \- after this i am going to write about itaya and ueki, thus fulfilling my mission of writing nonexistent no homo relationships that no one else wants.


End file.
